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One
Landon
Am I a schmuck for subtly hitting on the head chef here at The Blue Heron? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a creeper or anything. Not only are Violet Dean and I friends, years and years ago when I was eighteen and she twenty—yeah, I liked older women, still do—we were involved. It was all very innocent, not to mention brief since she was going away to France, but that time in my life remains excruciatingly memorable to me.
Being with her is something I’d like the opportunity to revisit.
When I traipse through the double-doors of her restaurant, I’m welcomed by the savory aromas within. Something savory with butter and garlic is the first I can identify, followed by a meat I suspect is lamb. Violet is a genius when it comes to her specialty dishes and crown roast of lamb along with fire grilled lamb chops happen to be two of them.
Let’s just say the lady cancook.
It’s no wonder Atlantans travel the two plus hours to get here just to eat at this exclusive upscale eatery. Although Oak Valley, too, has its charms. I can be a bit biased when it comes to my hometown. As a kid, I never appreciated its quaint small-town vibe, but that’s just down to the idiocy of youth. I had too much piss and vinegar to realize what I had until I did some traveling.
Not that big cities don’t have their uses. Lots of stuff to see and do, after all. Lots of excitement. It was fun for a minute. But in the end, I had to come back to the place to plant some roots. It’s ninety plus outside, but I don’t mind. I love Georgia in late July. The scents of honeysuckle and rain in the air never get tiresome. Not to me. And since Oak Valley is small, the hostess instantly recognizes me, waving in welcome after seating a sizable group of eight.
“Landon, nice to see you, although we’re awfully busy today. Do you have a preference in seating?” Harper asks, her distinctly pink hair secured into a high ponytail.
“I don’t, kiddo. Just toss me anywhere.”
I probably shouldn’t call Harper kiddo while she’s working, but I’ve known her since before she could walk, even if she is technically a grown woman now. Her mother was the head housekeeper at the big house, what my older brother Harrison and I call our ancestral home. We were both living there back then, but that was nearly two decades back. Time has sped up significantly lately, and sometimes I’m shocked to realize I’m every second of thirty-two.
Harper shrugs and leads me to a two-seat table near the kitchen on the first floor. The best viewpoint is upstairs where several of my framed photographs live, but I’m not complaining. Harper isn’t kidding. This place is hopping.
It’s only moments before a server reaches me, a guy Violet’s employed ever since she started the restaurant a few years ago named Jeremy.
“Wanna start with your usual or something stronger?” he inquires of me with his hands behind his back. I don’t know how he does it, but in all the time I’ve come here, he’s taken my order without anything to write on and has never messed up even once. Guy’s gotta a mind like a steel trap.
“Usual’s good for now.”
My usual is one of their rich brown ales made locally at a brewery just outside of Atlanta. When I need something with more kick, I go for some good ole Jim Beam like I did the day Mindy tried to talk me into what she called a more substantial relationship. I wish that she had appreciated my candor about not feeling ready for a commitment, but she hadn’t.
After collecting her things with the same sort of drama I’d expect out of a housewife on one of those reality shows of the same name, she left in a riot of tears and insults. Not that I’ve haven’t been called a son of a bitch or no good bastard previous to now. This isn’t my first rodeo when it comes to messy breakups.
Still.
And Harrison likes to sayI’mmelodramatic.
Whatever.
When Jeremy comes back with my beer, I order the wagyu beef burger and steak fries. I’m not in the mood for some fancy schmancy lamb, even if I know it’ll be delectable. Sometimes, I’m a simple man who just wants to sink my teeth into a hamburger, even if that burger sets me back by fifty bucks. I frown down at the menu just as Jeremy reaches for it.
Has Violet not increased her prices yet? Last I checked, five ounces of wagyu cost about ninety bucks.
I glance around and have to admit that I’m a privileged man. The Blue Heron is a locale that tourists travel far and wide to visit, but locals typically only come by to celebrate significant holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, or achievements of some sort. Yet I drop in at least once a week. Oftentimes more.
Part of that is due to my bank account increasing to a balance that’s ten digits long. This is due less to Walcott’s Haberdashery—my family’s multi-generational men’s clothing store—and more to the success of my camera work. Once it became popular fodder for magazines like National Geographic and Discover, money started pouring in for me like Rockefeller.
Sam, the owner of the Creative Gallery, has several of my prints up this month in a tribute to photography, too. It’s an honor since most of what he carries are paintings rather than stills. Selling from there has brought me more acclaim as well as some extra coin.
Professional success is a wonderful thing.
But Harrison’s fine running the store by himself. And I do stop by on occasion, even if I have zero interest in telling the men of Oak Valley what length of sport coat best suits their frame. Taking pictures is what brings me joy and soothes my soul. It’s my dream job, and right now, I’m living that dream full time.
Speaking of dreams, my dream woman saunters up to me from the kitchen, her chestnut hair scooped up into a tight-looking twist pinned relentlessly to her scalp. Regardless of the severity of that undo of hers, I delight in how it shows the perfect curve of her neck as it descends into her shoulder. Too bad her formal black chef’s uniform obscures most of it from view.
“Landon,” her distinctive voices echoes throughout the room, causing a few heads to bob in her direction. “Back again, I see.”
“Can’t stay away,” I confess. It’s the truth. I enjoy eating here, and I enjoy seeing her even more. She is the majority of the reason I’m here.
